It doesn’t take long to get to The Pagemaster, a sprawling storefront that looks like an old apothecary shop from the outside, except instead of old potions and herbs and magical artifacts, its windows are filled with books.

Jack looks like he’s in love, his pupils dilating as a calm washes over him. That’s just not fair when I’m pretending to be unbothered by his beauty.

“Can I just say?” I begin. “I love that this place is called The Pagemaster.”

“It’s punny,” he says.

“Yes, which, by the way, is a great word,” I say, and he looks almost surprised that I stole his line. “But no, haven’t you ever seen the 1994 film The Pagemaster starring Macaulay Culkin?”

When Jack shakes his head, I teach him a thing or two. “It’s about this boy who takes refuge in a library during a storm, and he slips and falls and passes out, and when he wakes up, he’s literally inside an animated world full of personified books.”

“Sounds like a dream. As in, that’s what I want for my life,” Jack says with a chuckle. “I’ve never heard of that movie. I never watched that kind of stuff growing up. I was always doing something outside with Cal. You’ll have to show it to me sometime.”

He’s always name-dropping his friend Callum, and every time, it makes my chest tighten with jealousy. Push through, Chase. Don’t let your instability show. “My mom loved it, so she passed it down to my sister and me,” I say, sliding past him to open the door for us.

Chimes above the door jingle. The sweet, musky scent of used books hits me immediately; it’s a delicate mix of ink and mothballs with notes of roasted almonds and dry coffee beans. Books take up nearly every square inch of the long shop, and in the spots without are book-related artifacts. There are swords and dragon eggs from Game of Thrones, the One Ring and various armor replicas from The Lord of the Rings, talismans from The Chronicles of Narnia, and other nondescript bookish tchotchkes.

There are also glass cases containing old, tattered first editions with thick red and blue hardcovers embossed with gold lettering and covered in a fine layer of dust.

“I’m home,” Jack says. His hands graze the tops of book-lined counters and shelves, and he wanders the aisles like he’s looking for nothing and everything all at once. I guess that’s the nature of a quest. He’s been sent by his professor in search of inspiration. Least I can do is let him find it on his own.

I don’t want to hover, so I quietly browse, searching for a section on classic fairy tales. While I’m here, I might as well do some research for “The Prince Who Captured Lightning.” Immediately, I gravitate toward a collection by the Brothers Grimm. It’s an older edition, with no illustration on its navy-blue cover aside from scrolly silver gilding around its edges.